


But That's Not The Winchester Way, Is It?

by nightsammy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, it can be seen as wincest but also not, sad!fic, so if you're not into wincest you can still read it tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:25:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4833596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightsammy/pseuds/nightsammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn't like Sam's new girlfriend. Sam is tired of telling him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But That's Not The Winchester Way, Is It?

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [But That's Not The Winchester Way, Is It?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4904608) by [DaintyCrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaintyCrow/pseuds/DaintyCrow)



> http://hannniger.tumblr.com/post/129453222276/but-thats-not-the-winchester-way-is-it if anyone wants to like it or reblog it on tumblr here's the link.

“Why do you keep bringing her here?”

Dean’s voice snaps Sam out of his thoughts and he jerks around, meeting his brother’s eyes. Dean’s leaning on the door frame leading into the kitchen, with his arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t look happy.

Sam sighs and leans back, his hip resting against the counter top. “Dean…”

“No seriously. No excuses. Tell me why you keep bringing her here.” His voice rises a bit, and Sam can tell he’s trying hard not to snap, yell or break something. 

“She kinda lives here,” Sam says softly, looking apologetic, eyebrows furrowed. “I’ve told you that.” He watches Dean, sees how he clenches his jaw, fisting his hands, still with his arms crossed. He’s so close to snapping, Sam knows. He wishes he didn’t have to tell Dean this, over and over, wish he could remember and just leave it alone. But he doesn’t. Every night he comes to Sam, trying to talk some sense into him.

_It’s you and me, Sammy. You and me. No one else._

Sam wishes. He does. It hurts him every time he has to see the look on Dean’s face, like Sam has betrayed him, shut him out. 

“No you haven’t,” Dean growls, taking a step forward, and Sam tries to sit still but he shifts a bit, trying to pull away even though there’s a counter behind him stopping him. “You haven’t told me a damn thing. In one moment it’s you and me against the world, fighting monsters, doing what we know best, and in the next you invite this chick you don’t even know into the bunker, our  _home_ , and you don’t even bother discussing it with me?” He looks confused, disappointed, and Sam gets it.

“I know Dean, damnit,” he mutters, fingers sliding through his hair, pushing it back and behind his ear. It’s gotten a lot longer the last couple of years. Doesn’t cut it as often. Dean used to do it for him, but not anymore.

“But you don’t get it. I tell you, and you forget. You always fucking  _forget_ ,” he says, voice breaking at the last word. He sniffs and clears his throat, shakes his head and straightens. He can’t deal with this right now.

_“You died, Dean. Five years ago.”_

The silence feels like it’s choking him, the room feels darker, colder. Dean looks heartbroken. “No. No, I’m here,” he tries, frowning. “I’m fucking here.”

“You’re a ghost, Dean,” Sam snaps. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t burn your bones, I couldn’t let you die, not really. So I let you stay. But I’m exhausted. I’m tired, and I don’t want to tell you every night that you died and I couldn’t get you back. I can’t do it anymore.”

Sam expects a bunch of questions. He has never snapped like this. Instead, Dean watches him, studies his face.

“Sammy?” Dean says, voice so far away, although he’s standing right in front of him. “Are you happy? With that girl, is she good to you?”

He sounds like a mother worrying about her son and Sam almost wants to smile, but he can’t.

“Yes. I am,” Sam lies, and nods. “She’s good to me.” Now, that’s true. Sam almost wishes it wasn’t.

“Good,” Dean nods, voice even further away, and he smiles now, weakly, but genuine. Sam’s not even sure if Dean can call his bluff, that maybe he’s ignoring it, or maybe he can’t tell anymore. But he doesn’t push it, just reaches out and pats Sam’s shoulder, and Sam can feel the pressure there, almost thinks Dean’s real, but then he disappears and Sam’s left alone in the kitchen.

He knows were Dean’s bones are, knows he could burn them and stop it all, put Dean  _and_  himself out of the misery of having to go through this every night.

_But that’s not the Winchester way, is it?_

**Author's Note:**

> written in the middle of the night with no beta, fyi. if you like it i appreciate any feedback, both here and on my blog. link to my tumblr blog is in the top notes.


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